Lexicon

woman.”
    “Brontë.”
    “What?”
    “Her name was Brontë.”
    “As in . . . Charlotte Brontë? A poet? I thought
they
were poets.”
    Tom didn’t reply.
    “Okay,” Wil said. “I get it. That guy called you Eliot. You’re Tom Eliot. Right? T. S. Eliot. You’re a poet.”
    Tom sighed. “Was.”
    “You
were
a poet? What are you now?”
    “I’m not sure,” Tom said. “Ex-poet, I guess.”
    “Why did your friends turn bad?”
    “They were compromised.”
    “What does that mean?”
    “Woolf got to them.”
    “What does—”
    “It means she’s very persuasive.”
    “Persuasive? She’s persuasive?”
    “I told you, poets are good with words.” Tom stood. Snow fell from his coat. “Time to go.”
    “You’re telling me Woolf persuaded them to try to murder us? As in, she said, ‘Hey, how about you trap your buddy Tom Eliot in a cattle yard and try to run him down with a truck,’ and they
did
? Because she’s
persuasive?
”
    “I said very persuasive. Get up.”
    There was nothing but snow in every direction. “Where are we going?”
    “I had a thought,” said Tom. “Maybe the plane really is here.”
    • • •
    They trudged through blackness and snow until Wil could no longer feel anything. His nerves retreated somewhere deep inside, where there was still warmth. His nose was a memory. He had not only never been this cold, he had not understood this degree of cold was possible. He began to hope poets found them, because whatever happened at least it would be warm.
    He stumbled. “Aha!” said Tom. “Runway.” Wil couldn’t see him. “Let’s try . . . this way.”
    After a few minutes, the stars began to vanish. There were noises. Tom took his arm and he found steps. At the top of those, the air was different. Warmer. Dear God, warmer.
    “Sit,” said Tom. “Don’t do anything.”
    He sank to the floor, wrapped his arms around his legs, and pressed his face into his arms. Tom was banging around somewhere up front, flicking switches. After a while, Wil began to feel alive. He raised his head. A yellow glow emanated from what he assumed was the cockpit. He massaged his feet. Could you get frostbite that quickly? Because he felt like he had frostbite. He decided to walk around, to save his feet.
    The cockpit was a cramped nest of instruments, a single seat surrounded by dark panels. Tom was buckled in. “You can fly this?” Wil said.
    “It’s not brain surgery.”
    “You can’t even see where you’re going. It’s pitch-black out there.”
    “I will assume we’re currently pointed in the right direction,” Tom said. “And drive straight.”
    “Uh,” Wil said.
    Tom ran his thumb across a dial and finished up on a worn black button. “I think we’re good to go.”
    “You think?”
    “It’s been a while since I did this.”
    “You said it wasn’t brain surgery.”
    “It isn’t. But the penalty for errors is high.”
    “Maybe we should think about this.”
    Tom waited. Wil thought he was reconsidering. Then he realized Tom was watching something. He followed his gaze but saw nothing but night sky. One of the stars was moving.
    “What is that?” he said, and realized. “A helicopter.”
    “Yes. Go sit down.” He depressed the button. Something went
click
. “Hmm.”
    “Was that supposed to happen?” Tom didn’t answer, but clearly no. “Did they sabotage the plane? Do you think they—”
    “Will you shut the fuck up?” Tom murmured to himself, poring over the controls. Ahead, the star grew. The ground beneath it began to twinkle. A searchlight swept snow.
    “It’s getting closer.”
    “Get out!”
    “I’m just letting you—”
    “Get out of the cockpit!”
    He groped through darkness until he reached seats. He dropped into one and felt for the belt. Nothing happened for a while. He glanced behind him. He could make out shapes back there. Something in the seats. He couldn’t sit still, so he got up and made his way toward them. He found a metal suitcase on one seat, gleaming faintly in the gloom. He slid his hands around it and found clasps.
    He couldn’t see, so he explored with his fingers. Something clinked. He felt fabric. He discovered something tubular and tried to pull it but it wouldn’t come. He pulled the case out of the seat and took it toward the front of the plane. When he was close enough to see, he peered into the case. Some of the equipment he didn’t recognize. Some he did. Syringes. Drill bits. In the center, its blade